This Is Not The Chosen One You're Looking For
by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: When the Antichrist is brought to Earth, he is secretly exchanged for another child with no one the wiser, so that he'll be raised in a secure, supportive environment until he grows up. Unfortunately, the family chosen are the Potters. Situation: FUBAR.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

* * *

Lily Potter (formerly Evans) had a great respect for the wizarding world. She would readily admit it. While wizard culture had its problems, some of them grave ones, it also had its virtues, and there was nothing that could ever make Lily regret that she was a witch.

But no matter how much she loved magic, no matter how pleased she was to belong to the wizarding community, there were some things she would _not_ experience.

Giving birth under the care of wizard healers was one of them.

In some ways healing was a very advanced field, but unfortunately in others it was just as backward and subject to the same prejudices and blinkered perception as the rest of the wizarding world.

The muggle world had long tried to make childbirth both as safe and as comfortable as possible. Nurses and doctors involved in the process were rigorously professional, adhering to strict standards of training and medical procedure, and did their best to control every aspect of the birthing process. Muggles also approved of the use of drugs to minimise pain and ease the effort of childbirth, which, as every mother knew, is something to be devoutly thankful for.

Wizards, on the other hand, regarded childbirth almost as a mystical event, an initiation into the deeper mysteries of life. Rather than being seen as a process which should be as managed and controlled in order to obtain the most positive result possible, the magical community regarded childbirth as an event which must be endured and allowed to take its course. Healers would intervene if the mother or child appeared to be in any danger, of course, but no efforts were made to ease the pain that the mother was in, or affect the birthing process in any other way.

"Sod that," Lily had told her husband dangerously, when James had waxed lyrical on the beauty of the fullness of the experiences of motherhood and the meaning of life. "I'm giving birth in a muggle hospital with modern medicine and proper doctors and pain-relieving drugs, and if you feel like arguing I'll hex your bollocks into next week."

"Right," James said swiftly. "Muggle hospital it is."

So it was that the 31st of July found Lily Potter in one of London's top hospitals, giving birth to a baby son.

Unfortunately, as events unfolded, she might have been better off with St Mungo's.

* * *

Two figures in black cloaks were loitering just outside the hospital carpark.

Their cloaks were as black as night, and sinister in cut, the result of some natty little spells and an excellent tailor.

After all, the cloaks' wearers had a reputation to uphold. It was important to maintain appearances.

"Where _is_ he?" hissed the first figure, who beneath the cloak of darkness possessed glowing red eyes and a pair of red horns, curling rakishly over his forehead. "He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago!"

His companion, a pale woman of unnatural and bewitching beauty, shrugged.

"You know how he is, he's always late. Does it really surprise you that he'd be late even for this? Can't change our natures, you know."

The first figure snarled impotently, and began pacing.

It was another fifteen minutes before a sleek black car pulled into the carpark, '_Running_ _With The Devil_' blaring from its speakers.

"Oh, blazes," hissed the horned figure. "Could he be any more cliché? I hate him. _I hate him_."

The female figure, on the other hand, looked very much like she wanted to laugh.

The black car was parked, and a moment later a slim, smartly-dressed figure jumped out.

"Greetings, my brother and sister in evil!" he proclaimed loudly.

The two cloaked figures immediately made shushing noises.

"Where have you _been?_" hissed the first one. "You're _late!_"

The new arrival just shrugged as he went around to the passenger side door.

"Yeah, well, sprog was upset. Figured I'd calm him down first."

With that he opened the front passenger door and took out the portable bassinet sitting on the seat.

His companions stared into it.

"He looks so… normal," the horned figure said at last.

The female figure smiled down at the sleeping infant.

"What a beautiful young Lord he is," she cooed.

The other two stared at her as though she was crazy.

"…right," the one in the suit said eventually. "Well, you know the plan, right? You two run distraction while I slip in, exchange the kid for another newborn with decent parents, then we dump the human kid at an orphanage somewhere."

"We're not incompetents," the horned figure growled.

The one in the suit nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes narrowing in a slight, amused smile.

"Great. Then let's get started."

* * *

It was no great task to swap the babies.

Nahash found a likely-looking mother soon enough; there was a pretty young red-headed woman with an infant curled up at her breast, passed out in exhaustion. For the moment she'd been left unattended, so Nahash took a closer look at her.

She was a good, kind, person, responsible and dedicated, he saw; no doubt she would make an excellent mother.

It was only as Nahash reached for the woman's own child that he noticed the exhausted thrum of magic beneath her skin.

Nahash grinned, exposing a flash of fangs.

The young Lord, raised by a witch divorced enough from wizard culture to choose non-magical healthcare over magical? Oh, that would be _perfect_.

He swept a hand over her forehead, blurring her memory enough that she wouldn't notice that the baby she held wasn't her own. She stirred slightly, and blinked at him for a moment, before his power dragged her back into unconsciousness.

Nahash had to hold back a startled burst of delighted laughter as he realised that the woman's eyes were the same vivid green as the young Lord's.

As he left hospital ward, as unobserved as when he had entered, Nahash knew that the next twenty years were going to be entertaining indeed.

Oh, Ashtaroth and Azzgul were both in a fuss, worrying about outcomes and the future and so on and so forth, but Nahash had learnt to go with the flow. It was senseless to fret about what might happen, and anyway, things had gone so well tonight. The young Lord had been placed with a mother who could love and care for him, and who Nahash could tell had an equally loving spouse to help raise the boy; what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

One year later, an idiot of a Dark Lord killed the child's parents, only to be ejected from his body when the boy's latent abilities protected him.

Only a few hours later, and the Antichrist was left on the doorstep of an unremarkable, somewhat small-minded, _very normal_ couple who neither expected or wanted the sudden intrusion into their life of a magical child.

A couple who, had they realised exactly who and what the child actually was, would have killed him on the spot.

Nahash's question had been answered.

The worst part was that for the longest time, no one would even notice. Little Harry James Potter would grow up abused and neglected, his abilities discouraged and feared, no one around him having the slightest inkling that he was the firstborn son and heir to the Prince of Lies himself.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

* * *

Eight year old Harry Potter's life, little though he might realise it, was distinctly odd.

The latest example of this oddness was right in front of him.

"_And then what happened?_" Harry asked in curiosity.

"_And then the Father of All Serpents told her to eat from the tree, for it was the fruit of Knowledge,_" said the snake. "_And her eyes were opened, and she perceived her nakedness, and sought to cover herself._"

Harry was supposed to be weeding the garden, but sitting behind the garden shed listening to a talking snake tell him stories was far more interesting.

"_Couldn't she tell?_" Harry asked, brow wrinkling. "_I mean, it's sort of hard not to notice, being naked._"

"_It is a metaphor,_" said the snake tolerantly; after all, its audience was barely more than a hatchling. "_When I say she noticed that she was naked and sought to cover herself, I mean that she became different from most other creatures, and noticed the way in which she was different._"

Harry thought about this for a while.

"_It's a mettyphor because… because only humans wear clothes, right? And she was different from all the animals,_" he suggested finally.

"_Very good,_" praised the snake.

Somewhere in the distance an angry voice screeched,

"BOY!"

"_Uh-oh,_" Harry exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "_I'd better go. Thank you for the story, Mister Snake._"

"_You are welcome, Young Brother_," replied the snake. But the boy had already fled.

Had it been human, the snake would have shaken its head, and sighed to itself.

The child was clearly in the hands of unfit guardians. What were the demons thinking?

* * *

It was hard to find a more charming boy than Harry Potter.

Small for his age, and badly dressed, the boy was nonetheless calmly-spoken with lovely manners, and a pair of big green eyes and a shy, endearing smile that simply increased his charm.

The Dursleys had tried to spread rumours about the boy, talking about delinquency and bad behaviour, but it was obvious to everyone who met him that there wasn't an ounce of harm in him. He was far too well-behaved, too well-mannered, and a kind word or two was enough to make him beam in startled pleasure. It was more than likely that the couple were trying to divert attention from their own, rather unpleasant offspring, whose corpulent figure and bullying ways were well-known to the neighbourhood.

Despicable, his teacher thought, and shook her head sadly.

"Miss Harper?" a bright, polite voice asked.

She jumped, and looked around to see that Harry himself had approached her when she wasn't paying attention.

"Aren't you supposed to be outside during lunch?" she asked, smiling a little.

Harry looked up at her with wide green eyes.

"It's just I had a question," he explained, looking a little dismayed.

"What is it, then?"

Harry brightened as he saw that he wasn't actually in trouble.

"Someone was telling me stories," he explained. "About an angel who turned into a snake and told the first lady to eat of the Tree of Knowledge. It was really interesting."

Her eyebrows rose.

"That's a story from the Bible, Harry," she told him kindly. "You don't have any Bibles at home?"

Harry shook his head, frowning.

She thought for a moment.

"You know, I think the library has a children's Bible, if you want to read more," she said thoughtfully. "I can show you next time we go in there for Reading Time, how does that sound?"

Harry's face turned radiant.

"Thank you Miss Harper! That's brilliant!"

She simply smiled fondly at his enthusiasm, unaware that in this instance, religious education might not be the best thing to expose her student to.

* * *

"_So,_" Harry summarised, the children's Bible on his lap as he talked to the snake, "_basically he's in trouble because he ran away and was naughty, instead of doing what he was told._"

"…_I suppose you could say that,_" the snake conceded eventually. It had never heard Lucifer's actions described in quite that way before.

"_It says he was the fairest and most beautiful angel of them all, and they called him the Morning Star for he shone as bright,_" Harry read off the page. "_So how come he was a snake in the Garden, then? I don't get it._"

"_He could turn into a snake,_" the snake said patiently.

"_Oh. That makes sense." _Harry flipped through the pages in front of him. "_I wonder if there's more books that can tell me about him?_"

"_Probably,_" said the snake.

* * *

As Harry grew older, the Dursleys found it more and more difficult to treat him badly.

If Petunia went to order him to do something that he didn't want to do, she found herself hesitating, and asking Dudley to do it or doing it herself instead.

If Vernon opened his mouth to yell at the boy over breakfast, one glance into green eyes and he found himself shutting it again and going back to his bacon, without any further fuss.

Dudley no longer chased or tormented his cousin; Harry would just look at him and say, '_Dudley, don't be a prat,_' and Dudley would find himself nodding politely and going away and leaving his cousin alone.

There was only one occasion in which he persisted in bothering Harry until Harry was quite annoyed. Ten minutes later a dazed Dudley realised that he was helping Kelly Hampton braid her hair, and agreeing that gosh, the blue bows were pretty.

Dudley had promptly flung himself backwards with a yell of horror, and after that made a far greater effort to be nicer to Harry.

Over time Harry developed an assurance and confidence in himself that in anyone else might have been conceited. And yet, in Harry, it wasn't arrogance; it was simply that the idea that things might not go as he wanted them to, or that people might not do as he wished them to, never entered his head.

Petunia found herself buying Harry proper clothes of his own, and books and toys, and making sure that he ate properly. Vernon found himself clearing out the extra bedroom one afternoon and making it habitable; he exchanged a confused, speaking glance with Petunia, and gruffly told Harry to move his things out of the cupboard because he was sleeping in the room next to Dudley's from now on. Harry appeared completely unsurprised by this information, and his aunt and uncle shuddered at the implications.

But whatever the reason, by the time that he was ten years old, the Dursleys treated Harry almost like a normal human being.

Harry sometimes wondered, vaguely, why the Dursleys' behaviour had changed so drastically over the course of little over a year, but other thoughts usually soon put the question out of his mind.

* * *

Harry was on his way home from school when he spotted the burly man and Mr Davis.

Harry liked Mr Davis. He was rather strange; he always had goats in his backyard even though his neighbours complained, and whenever he saw Harry he shouted '_Hail Satan!_' and saluted, but he was always kind and sometimes gave Harry sweets, so Harry overlooked his odd habits.

Harry frowned, and walked closer.

The burly man was holding Mr Davis by the throat, while Mr Davis tried to push him away. The burly man was strong, though, and it had no effect.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Mr Davis instantly rolled his eyes sideways to look at Harry in relief.

"Piss off, midget," the burly man said, without looking around.

Harry's frown deepened.

"I think," he said slowly, "you should let put him down."

The burly man instantly let Mr Davis go, and then looked greatly surprised, like he hadn't meant to do that at all.

Mr Davis just lay on the ground coughing, and blinked up at Harry with an expression of gratitude.

"What the f–" the burly man started to say, turning around, but stopped dead as he looked at Harry.

Harry was just standing there in his school uniform with his backpack on, his hair blowing a little in the breeze, but the burly man looked at him like he saw someone completely different.

"Oh _shit_," the burly man said, staring at Harry in what seemed to be horror.

"You shouldn't swear," Harry said reprovingly. "It's rude. I don't want you hurting Mr Davis. He's my friend."

"Praise be to the Dragon, and see how fortunate are those who fall in his favour!" Mr Davis wheezed valiantly, and coughed some more.

"Oh boy," said the burly man. "Look, I didn't _know_, okay? No one told me he was one of _your_ followers, alright? I was just reminding him about his contract, but if he's been serving you that's fine, I'll let the boss know. No problems."

"All right," Harry said agreeably. He had no idea what the bloke was talking about, but it sounded like he was going to leave Mr Davis alone, and that was what Harry wanted.

"Hail, oh exalted Lord of Darkness!" Mr Davis cried, more loudly this time.

"Oi, stop that," the burly man told him. "Can't have everyone knowing, can we? You don't want to ruin his plans for world domination, do you?"

Mr Davis froze in consternation.

"I will pretend I know nothing. I would hate to ruin his glorious plans of conquest and unholy rule!"

"See you do," said the burly man. He turned to Harry. "I'll just be going, then," he said respectfully, and with a nod, began walking away.

Harry looked down at Mr Davis, still lying on the pavement and making no effort to get up.

"Are you okay, Mr Davis?" he asked in concern.

"I am fine, oh Child of – erm – I mean – uh –" He floundered to a stop.

"My name's Harry," Harry said kindly.

"_Harry_," Mr Davis repeated, a little incredulously.

"That's right," Harry agreed. "Excuse me, Mr Davis, I really need to get home. I'm glad I could help, though."

Harry smiled a goodbye, and continued home.

* * *

On Harry's eleventh birthday he received a letter, written in emerald ink and an elaborate cursive hand.

Frowning curiously, he opened it and read it.

After a moment's contemplation, he went to find his aunt and uncle.

"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, I got the strangest letter…"

Vernon and Petunia simply exchanged despairing looks.

If things had turned out the way they had without Harry even knowing about magic, what would happen once Harry was _trained_ to do peculiar and frightening things?

* * *

That same morning, a black classic car drove down the streets of Godric's Hollow, eliciting a few raised eyebrows at the blatantly muggle vehicle. The sound of '_Born to be Wild_' drifted faintly on the air as it purred down the road.

The car came to an abrupt stop, however, as the driver caught sight of the Potter house, half-collapsed and with an entire wall blown out as though something had exploded with great force inside the building.

It was clear from the degree of disrepair that whatever had caused the initial damage, it had happened a long time ago, and the house had been abandoned for several years at the least.

The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow spent the next several minutes wondering what was happening as the air filled with the sound of shouted curses and angry yells, and the long, drawn-out sound of someone hitting a car horn in frustrated fury, and the sudden fear of someone who _knows_ they're going to be blamed for this.

* * *

**Author Note:**

_ Yeah, so this entire fic is a bit of a shout-out to_ Good Omens. _This chapter is a bit rushed, I dunno._


End file.
